


silverflint drabbles

by intybus



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, and more!!, leaving things hanging just before they blow into filth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-09-07 00:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intybus/pseuds/intybus
Summary: a collection of tiny ficlets and drabbles from tumblr prompts and @silverflintdaily's drabble of the week challenge





	1. tradition, captive, labor

**Author's Note:**

> just.......... saving some stuff and waiting for the apocalypse.  
> i'm also @intybus on pillowfort if ya want to chat about pirates!!

“When the Spaniards held us captive,” Flint says, watching Silver pick up another potato, “and before—you saved my life.”

Silver doesn’t stop peeling, but his interest is roused. Flint can read it, even ciphered between the brackets of his shrugging shoulders.

“I’d like to thank you.”

He places a palm on Silver’s thigh.

The offer is welcomed by a taunting smile. “Captain… I fear you’re laboring under the wrong impression,” Silver covers Flint’s hand with his own, holds it still. “I acted out of sheer self-interest. There’s no need.”

“Nonetheless,” Flint says. Silver’s warmth is dizzying even through the layer of his trousers. “I benefited from the outcome of your actions. I’d hate to stay in your debt.”

Silver swallows, freeing Flint from his grasp. “Is this the traditional way in which pirates convey their gratitude?” he asks, as Flint’s palm starts its way upward. “Or am I special?”


	2. past, honesty, travel

He finds her outside, moonlight painting streaks of silver on her wet cheeks. “May I join you?” he asks.

Her throat contorts to untangle an answer—it fails. She offers a jerky nod instead.

Their shared grief draws a bridge out of silence and shadows. Soon they are traveling back on it.

He leads her to a sunny beach. “He was a horrible cook,” he says. She laughs. “Once he nearly poisoned the whole crew trying to feed them a raw pig.”

She welcomes him in her quarters and tells him of the quiet evening spent braiding dark curls. Smiling softly, she breathes of their first kiss. “I thought I’d been obvious, but he looked so surprised after.”

The memory fades and she asks, “Did you kiss him first too?”

“I—“ he says, startled. He considers changing the past with a stroke of his tongue, stealing lips that were never his. It wouldn’t make his chest less hallow. “It wasn’t like that between us. I never told him.”

Her eyes look honest when she reaches for his hand, but her words must be shaped by pity when she says, “He loved you back, I think.”


	3. red, fault, drought

The pillage is Flint’s own fault, really. He should have been more careful. He should have listened: Silver wears his sins on his lips. He says, “I’m a thief,” and thieve he does. He reaches into Flint’s chest and pulls red things from it.

Anger spurts first, easily- like blood from a wound. Then Flint blinks, and Silver’s smirks turn conspirational, they stay in place just a little too long. Between his wolf teeth, he pulls from Flint’s gut the scalding shock of yearning. He pulls frantic truths from Flint’s tongue. With the voice of a man just out of a drought, Flint says, “I want you.” He says, “Please.”

“Yes,” Silver says, and licks words blistering red into Flint’s mouth.


	4. “The only thing I want is you.”

“Imagine this all goes away,” Silver says. He sits opposite to Flint. Between them there are: a desk, scattered charts, a bottle of rum, an oil lamp, the knot in Flint’s throat.

It all goes away: Silver stands in front of him. Flint presses their forehead together, from his lips falls desperate nonsense—still, Silver understands.

“Imagine there is no war,” Silver says, and wrests the inches yawning between them into a chasm so he can lean back on his chair. Flint feels his temper shrink in the cold air. “And you have the gold all for yourself. Where would you like to be right now?”

“I don’t know.”

Silver tuts over the rim of his cup. “Come on, captain. There must be something you want, besides this bloody war.”

“I don’t want the war,” Flint says irritably. “The war is inevitable and I’m going to see it through. But I don’t want it.”

Silver looks unconvinced. He dares, “Then what do you want?”

“Nothing,” Flint chugs half of the bottle. He feels Silver’s appraising stare mapping the journey of the liquid down his throat. He imagines him doing the same with his fingers. A draft of sea air makes him shiver, topples a confession from his tongue. “The only thing I want is you.” A thrill snakes through his spine as the words reach his own ears, as the silence shifts to accommodate their meaning.

Silver’s lips part on an answer Flint is not bold enough to listen to. Making sure Silver can taste the rum dripping from each syllable, he slurs, “Is—I mean—is for you to shut up.”


	5. owl, horizon, scream

Muldoon pierces the water with owl eyes. “Help me,” he pleads.

Fear drenches Silver to his lungs, grows roots from the soaked bones of his feet.

“Help me,” Muldoon says again. Silver cannot move. Around them, the storm screams, screams, he screams until the noise tastes like blood in his throat—until a pressure on his shoulder jolts him awake.

Silver strains against the hold, heart pounding in his ears.

“You’re safe.” With big gulps, he breathes the voice in. “Just me,” it says. “You’re safe.”

Just you, Silver thinks.

Pitch darkness cuts short his horizon. Felt but unseen, he reaches out. Fingers around the solid flesh of Flint’s wrist, Please stay, he thinks.


	6. "How can you think I’m anything but hopelessly in love with you?”

Usually, it spills from Flint along with other nonsense: pleads and praises and Silver’s name grunted, panted, cooed. The wording is a bit off, but Silver understands nonetheless. Flint means: I love this, I love the way this feels. Silver does too, but he never says it back. He fears that rasped in his own voice, Flint’s lust-skewed babble won’t feel skewed at all.

The words weigh on his tongue even while they are not fucking. He learns to talk around them.

“De Groot’s been looking for you,” he says one day, careful as always not to overflow. It’s a little harder when the taste of Flint’s hunger is still so fresh on his lips. “We really should get going.”

“Yeah,” Flint agrees but instead of following Silver outside the cabin, he stops in the doorway. “Wait a moment.”

Silver quirks an eyebrow and waits. “What now, Captain?”

“Nothing,” Flint drawls. The expression playing on his face is a little sheepish, so soft and open Silver can barely stand the sight of it. “Just wanted to look at you for a bit longer.” Clawing at the linen of Silver’s shirt, Flint pulls him close, close, closer—then, with all his clothes still on and his wits unclouded, he breathes against Silver’s mouth, “I love you.”

Silver must have misheard. The impossibility throws him back a step. “What? What did you say?”

Flint takes a step back too, frowning. He tries to speak once in vain, before swallowing hard and finally finding his voice. “I’ve said it to you before. If I had known it bothers you—“

“You said it while we were fucking,” Silver points out, “You talk a fucking lot while we’re fucking. I didn’t—It doesn’t bother me.” His throat feels impossibly tight, but since he still can’t wrap his mind around it, he asks, “You mean it?” He regrets it immediately, the sound of his own vulnerability punches the air out of his lungs. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want to know.

“You see right through me so clearly. How can you not see this too?” Flint asks in a hoarse whisper. His hands come up to frame Silver’s face. “Please look at me. How can you think I’m anything but hopelessly in love with you?”

Silver feels something crack open inside himself. He surges forward. “Me too,” between soft kisses, he lays his heart bare, “Sometimes I can’t think with how much I love you.”


	7. villain, water, book

The river gurgles at their feet, droplets of water prickles their calves. 

Silver feels invincible. In his veins, the thrum of victory and the one of Flint’s proximity pulse a tangled rhythm. “They’re going to write books about today, sing about your feats.”

“The monster who slaughtered their bravest brothers, their brightest sons?”

Dry blood speckles Flint’s face. Silver knows a thing or two about monsters. “The man,“ he says, seeking Flint’s eyes, "who showed us the way.”

Flint scoffs, crouching down to scrub dirt and death from his hands.

“I’ll tell the story myself, if I have to,” Silver kneels beside him. “You won’t be the villain, not in my version.”

“What will you make of me, then?”

Silver inches closer, heart on his tongue. “We can decide together.”


	8. story, pistol, rabbit

Silver hasn’t uttered a single word since he barged into Flint’s cabin. From the way he squirms on his chair, Flint would swear someone sprinkled the seat with hot coals. It’s getting a bit ridiculous. “Tell me,” Flint orders.

Silver takes a long breath and deliberately relaxes his shoulders. “Well,” he says. “Apparently, we’re fucking.”

Flint’s fingers stumble in their task. The ramrod he’s using to clean the pistol almost slips from his grip. Maybe he heard wrong. “What?”

“We’re fucking. Going at it like rabbits.”

Flint feels the blood surge up to his face, burning from his throat to his hairline. “What are you talking about?”

“The men are convinced we can’t keep our hands off each other. They’ve been trading raunchy stories about us, vouching for their truth. Heard one with my own ears—they call me John the giant, did you know?”

Flint affects unshaken composure. “Does it bother you?”

“Mostly I find it ludicrous. And a bit flattering if I’m honest,” Silver pins him with an appraising look. “Does it bother you?”

“They’re just stories,” Flint says, casting his eyes down. He focuses on cleaning the pistol. Slowly. Methodically.

Silver doesn’t say anything, but Flint can feel his stare boring a hole right through his act.

A soft cough lures Flint’s focus back on Silver. “They say we’re madly in love. That it’s plain in the way you look at me,” Silver shifts on the chair and leans forward. “Captain,” he murmurs, “have I been blind?”


	9. pirate, grace, fire

Restless pacing. Rustling. Shuffling.

“Please, stop,” Flint keeps his gaze purposely glued to the book on his desk.

“I’m bored.” More rustling. Flint starts planning a murder. “Hey, how do I look?”

He dares to glance up. Silver graces him with a spin, arms outstretched to offer a better view. Draped over a grimy, ragged linen shirt, hugging Silver’s broad shoulders, well-toned arms, muscular back: Flint’s most prized possession, his majestic leather coat. “Take it off immediately.”

Silver pouts in the mirror, gauging his own reflection. “Does it fit me that horribly?”

“It’s mine,” Flint says, standing to loom behind the thief. If he has to rip the coat off Silver’s gorgeous dead body, so be it.

“Yours,” Silver weighs the word on his tongue, then smirks. “I must admit, I struggle with the concept. Things being not mine… it’s hard. I’m a pirate now. If I see something I want, I just take it. Isn’t that the pirate way?”

Their eyes meet in the mirror. The coat looks good on Silver. Flint’s coat. On Silver. It sets fire to Flint’s blood.

Silver’s grin darkens. “See anything you want?”


	10. revolution, mask, dance

Flint’s tongue starts revolutions—the one to overthrow England, the one stirring in Silver’s chest. Small words in the dark, rage-drenched cries that move armies. “Fire!” Flint yells. Far away, voice shaky, he whispers: “I’ve come to cherish our partnership more than anything else in my life.”

Silver thinks Flint deserves a victory. He cannot give him a fairer world, but he can unmask his own heart for him, lay it down bare of lies: a bloody, vulnerable thing.

Somewhere rages a war.

In the small stage between their lips, their breathes dance together, mingle into one. Silver opens for Flint’s kiss.


	11. Trust, Energy, Mother

Silver doesn’t trust the weird fever hallucination kneeling beside him at first. But then it speaks, “Take a sip,” and the low rumble strokes across Silver’s clammy cheeks, each word something solid, a gentle finger. When the dream tips a cup to Silver’s lips, the water is cool; the arm supporting his head made of flesh. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Silver croaks. He stares, and Flint exists with unwavering steadiness for a whole scatter of seconds. “Are you back?”

“Yeah.” A frown. A hand on Silver’s forehead—real. “Yesterday afternoon. The princess told me you weren’t feeling well.” Silver struggles against the cot and the dizziness to haul himself up, but Flint’s palms on his shoulders press to keep him horizontal. “You’re still a bit warm, I think. You’d better save your energy. The crew needs its quartermaster back in full health as soon as possible.”

“Stop mothering me,” Silver grumbles but sinks back down.


	12. 49. “Well this is awkward…”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> madi/silver/flint!!

The knock jolts Silver out of his doze. Madi must have her hands too full to handle the door on her own.

“Coming,” he calls, as his stomach thunders excitedly at the prospect of food. Post-coital bliss always dissipates far too quickly, sex never fails to turn him ravenous in its aftermath.

Without wasting time to put on the leg or make himself decent, he slides off the bed in the nude and hops the short distance to the door, using the wall for balance. “I’m starving,” he says to Madi–

who, on her way back from the kitchen, sprouted freckles, a beard, and at least five inches in height.

Oh fuck. Not Madi.

“I, uh,” Flint stammers, standing frozen and wide-eyed on the threshold of the hut. His gaze tumbles across Silver’s chest all the way down to his dick. Silver feels his face lapped by fire. Flint, for his part, turned an alarming shade of pink. He licks his lips, clears his throat and tries to speak again, “I’m. Uhm.”

Keenly aware of every exposed inch of skin he’s putting on display, Silver coughs out a laugh– a stilted, slightly panicky sound that adds to the tension instead of lightening it. “Well, this is awkward.”

“I. I brought this back,” Flint holds out a book. Silver refrains from reaching for it, glancing down meaningfully to where the hand he’s not using to steady himself is busy trying to grant them both a semblance of modesty. “Ah,” Flint says, flushing even darker. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“You can leave it on her desk, if you want,” Silver says, before realizing how horrible an idea that is. The room still smells of sex.

Flint steps in, letting the door slip close behind him. “Thank you,” he mumbles as he navigates his way past the bed, very pointedly not looking at the mess of covers crumpled on top of it.

They both flinch in surprise when the door yawns open.

“Oh,” Madi says, noticing the intruder right away. Her eyes flick from Flint to Silver and back. Then she gives a smile of the most infuriating quality, as though she knows something Silver doesn’t—the secret of the universe, or what Flint is thinking. “Did you find the book enjoyable?” she inquires while setting down on the bed the basket she brought back from the kitchen. She doesn’t really give Flint time to answer. “John did not tell me we were expecting a guest.”

“No, he– I–” Silver flails.

“I just stopped to drop it back,” Flint points hurriedly at the book. “I didn’t mean. I, uh. I’ll leave now.”

“If that’s what you want,” Madi nods mildly. “But if you have an appetite, perhaps you could join us? If you don’t mind sharing, of course.”


End file.
